


Always the Sea

by TheRealSokka



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, First Meeting, Love, unashamed appreciation of how beautiful the sea is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23585521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealSokka/pseuds/TheRealSokka
Summary: Sally Jackson fell in love with the sea when she was 18 years old.At least, that was when she eventually pinpointed the feeling for what it was.
Relationships: Sally Jackson/Poseidon (Percy Jackson)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 56





	Always the Sea

“Mommy! Mommy!”

The cries of the high pitched little voice brought a quick end to the peace that had settled over the cabin on the beach of Montauk.

Sighing, Estelle Jackson put down her book and closed her eyes, allowing herself one more second in bliss before she got to her feet. Duty called, and it sounded anguished as only a child could. She cast a quick look to her husband, who had fallen asleep on his armchair in blissful ignorance, and sighed again. All she had been hoping for were a few blessed moments of calm and quiet. But even though it was their holiday, with a five year old daughter this was an unrealistic hope, as she knew far too well by now.

Then she stepped out onto the porch, saw the look on her daughter’s face, and her resignation immediately flipped over into alarm. The little girl in front of her was sniffing miserably, wet tears streaming down her cheeks. She had been bawling her eyes out, judging by how red rimmed they were. Which, yes; children did that every now and then and it shouldn’t be a cause for great alarm, but Sally Jackson was different. She almost never cried. So it was safe to say that her mother was very worried at seeing her like this.

“Hey, hey, Sally; what’s wrong?” She gently lowered herself to her daughter’s eye level, all thoughts of scolding her for disturbing the peace forgotten. Damn her soft heart, she just wanted to see her happy. “Sweety. What happened?”

Little Sally looked up. Sniffing, she opened her palms and revealed a greyish, formless something. It took her mother a moment to recognize what it was. “A jellyfish? Where’d you find it?”

“B-beach. He- he won’t go back into the water.”

 _Oh_. Understanding the situation, Estelle inspected the thing closer. It looked rather greyish. The beach was a good five minutes’ walk away; ten on little child legs. Her knowledge about maritime life was limited at best, but she had a feeling that a jellyfish couldn’t survive this long out of the water, no matter how careful she knew Sally would have handled it. She gave her daughter’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Have you tried putting him back in?”

“I d-did. He come back.” She cradled the little thing protectively. “He look so sick. Can you help him, mom?”

Her mother smiled reassuringly. “Sure, sweetie. It is probably just too shallow for him to swim. Let’s go back, and I’ll walk him a little further out, yeah?”

Sally blinked through her tears. “And then he swims?”

“Yes.”

The girl’s sadness seemed to dissolve on the spot at the prospect. In an instant her familiar restless energy returned; she bounced up again and tugged at her mother’s arm insistently. “Come on! Water is going away!” And with that, she took off towards the beach, running with her arms outstretched as if she wanted to show her new friend the water he’d be returning to in a moment.

That was how, late in the evening, Estelle Jackson found herself knee-deep in the ebbing water of Montauk, holding her dress up with one hand and carrying a dead jellyfish in the other.

The things she did for this girl. As she placed the thing in the sea, it started to twitch in her palm, so maybe there were some regenerative abilities involved that she didn’t know about. She just hoped fervently that the tides would not let her daughter’s little friend be washed ashore again. Sally had inherited far too much of her father’s compassion for anything living. She was without a doubt the most caring child this side of the Atlantic; of that much Estelle Jackson was certain.

For that, she loved her more than anything, and she would do anything to keep harm or heartbreak away from her. Her clothes were sprayed with salt water and her right hand would start to itch later that night, but when she spattered back on land Sally smiled so brightly as to rival the sunset, and that made it all worth it.

They waved her little friend goodbye together, standing on the still wet sand and watching the sun slowly dip beneath the horizon. Just before it vanished, a red road of light stretched across the waves all the way to their feet, and the petite woman was once again reminded why she loved coming here so much. Montauk at this time of year had something magical.

“Pretty water.” said Sally, admiring it with a look of wonder in her eyes.

“Yes.” Estelle agreed. “Pretty water.”

The next morning, Sally’s bed was curiously empty. Neither was she to be found anywhere in the cabin. After about ten minutes of panic, her parents found her back at the beach, standing motionless by the water. At her feet, Estelle discovered the dead jellyfish.

Sally didn’t cry this time. Without saying a word, she dug a hole in the sand and laid her little friend down inside it. She stayed there until the flood covered it. But when the waves started lapping at her feet, she abruptly went back to the hut, to her mother’s surprise, grabbed some sheets of paper off the table. A few minutes later, she had them folded into a small paper boat, just the way her father had shown her to make it. Then she raced into her room and returned with her sea shell clutched in her hands.

The shell has a dark red hue; its form curved like a horn. There was a single, tiny little hole in it, just large enough to fit a needle through. Sally had found it two days ago in the foam, and it had immediately become her favourite thing in the world. Now she laid it into her folded paper boat and carried it down to the water. Her mother had never seen her walk with so much purpose.

Estelle Jackson followed her, wading into the water to stand beside her. She spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb this moment for her daughter. “Why are you making a boat for your shell?”

Sally blinked up at her with her blue, earnest eyes. “The sea must be sad. Wanted to give it something back.”

“But aren’t you going to miss it?”

“Hmhm.” Sally nodded sadly. With that, she pushed the boat out to sea, watching it drift away until it capsized and vanished into the blue.

* * *

Sally Jackson fell in love with the sea when she was 18 years old.

At least, that was when she eventually pinpointed the feeling for what it was. It wasn’t like a spontaneous, moment by moment decision; rather, it was a relationship years in the making.

It was her earliest childhood memory of the beach at Montauk; a little girl laughing and stumbling through the foam while her parents called for her to stay safe on land. She had never understood that warning, and maybe that was what made the memory stick out so much: She had never felt threatened by the sea, not even remotely. It had given her so much – the beautiful sea shell next to her bed, the memory of the pretty red water, her mother’s rare smiles – and had never taken anything in return.

It was the sad looking man in the police uniform, kneeling down to tell the six year old girl that her parents wouldn’t be coming home, and the girl running away from him to the beach, because maybe that was where they had gone instead. She couldn’t find them there.

It was an eight year old’s crying and yelling when her uncle told her they wouldn’t be going to Montauk anymore.

(“Don’t be difficult, Sally; I don’t have the time to drive there! Frankly, I don’t know why you keep wanting to. It would only remind you of them, right?”)

Sally wanted to be reminded. To her alarm, she had found that she couldn’t remember her mother’s face clearly anymore. She _could_ remember the face of the policeman from that night, who had plunged her world into chaos, even though she didn’t want to remember him. She just wanted her mother, and her mother had always loved the little beach behind the dunes.

Her uncle didn’t understand. He had always been quiet, but after her mother’s death he withdrew even further into his own little world, and no amount of yelling and crying from his niece could draw him back out. The visits to Montauk ceased.

It was a voice asking if she could sit down next to her, outside the little ice cream shop by the pier, where you could hear the waves over the noise of the city when you listened closely enough. Sally often came here when she felt especially sad. The young woman, who was still wearing her apron from the shop, didn’t comment on her red-rimmed eyes. She just handed her an ice cream cone, refusing all her protests that she didn’t have any money for it.

(“It’s on the house, darling. Just dig in. Everything looks a little better with sugar in the bloodstream. At least it does in my experience.”)

Jenny was only eleven years older than her, with brown hair and kind eyes and a love of the water. She never called Sally mean names, like the girls at school did, and she was the first person in years she could actually talk to. They’d sometimes sit down at the water’s edge with their legs dangling over the side, talking about important and sometimes about unimportant things. It lasted only for a short while: Jenny was from California, and one day she explained that she had to go back there. But by the time they hugged goodbye on that same pier, Sally had not cried like that in months.

It was a twelve year old sitting by the Hudson and listening to the waves hitting the docks, and feeling suddenly peaceful. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the strange feeling for a moment. But soon there was also fear: what if this faded, too, and she wouldn’t even remember it? The girl raced to the nearest shop, bought a book and a pen, sat down on the water’s edge and began feverishly to write, to trap this feeling in the pages. A story took shape, of a woman who travelled to distant places in her little boat and who loved nothing more than the sound of seagulls and waves. Before she knew it, the book was full.

It was a high schooler on a school trip to Staten Island, receiving a call from the hospital that her uncle had been admitted in critical condition. This time the waves were not peaceful, only urgent as the ferry raced through them, not fast enough. Her mind was full of guilt: she hadn’t noticed anything, had rarely even been at home lately. When she saw him, her uncle smiled a tight-lipped smile. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen it.

(He looked pale and coughed a lot. The doctors gave her the diagnosis: cancer, final stage. Sally refused to cry. She spent the next month by his bed, reading to him from her half-finished stories whenever his mind was clear enough to understand. Her final exams came and went without her noticing, as she watched her uncle grow ever paler.)

It was a young woman, grown up early, driving her ancient car over the road to the old house by the beach. The cabin looked exactly as in her childhood memories, only more desolate, run down over years of neglect. She pulled up the shutters and dusted off the bed and lost herself in memories that were now all gone. Her family was gone. As was her school certificate. All the money she’d had left had gone into the funeral and all she owned was a tiny flat that she couldn’t pay the rent for, a malfunctioning old car and stacks of writing sitting in her desk that she had kid herself into thinking would ever be published as a book with her name on the front.

She had nothing. And she didn’t know what to do. Evening found her lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts wandering aimlessly, but for a long time unable to sleep.

* * *

Sally awoke that morning in the little cottage in Montauk, exhausted, but also strangely calm. After a breakfast of stale chips and water, she made her way down to the beach, sat down in the sand and just watched. It was flood and the waves came crashing further and further ashore, their gentle, monotone noise mixing with the waking cries of the sea gulls.

She wasn’t worried that the waves would reach her little spot. She knew this sea – _her_ sea – too well for that. No, the water would just continue to rise for a few more hours and then recede, before starting the cycle again. In that, it was predictable, reliable. Sally almost envied it. She wished she could have even a small part of that certainty in her life. Just something constant to build on, even if it would all wash away again soon.

But then again, she remembered, she had always loved the ocean for how unpredictable it could be. She had never known what she would find when she came to the water, but usually it had been something good. A beautiful sea shell when she was a child. Solace when her parents had died. A friend, for a little while at least, when she really needed one. She didn’t know if it could give her anything to help with her current situation, but she decided she would give it the benefit of the doubt. And if it didn’t give her anything – well, at least it wouldn’t take anything from her, either. The sea had never taken anything away from her.

As the sun slowly rose over the ocean, Sally watched it paint a red path across the waves, almost touching the beach where she was sitting. A quiet smile crept onto her face. _Pretty water_. A memory from a lifetime ago.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The voice should have been startling in the quiet. Somehow, it wasn’t. Sally turned her head and looked at the man who was sitting a few feet away from her on the sand. He had most definitely not been there when she came down, but somehow he looked like he’d been sitting on this beach for ages; as if he belonged here. He was tanned and weather-beaten, his black hair blown back by the sea breeze. A fishing rod was stuck in the sand between his feet.

Absently, Sally thought that he wouldn’t catch anything from here; they were still a hundred meters away from the water. But then the stranger didn’t really seem too concerned with catching anything. His gaze was fixed out to sea – like hers had been.

Sally smiled. “Yes, it is. I used to come here often, when I was little.” She didn’t know why she told a stranger that, but that realization didn’t make her nervous like it probably should. She had the impression this man was here for the sea and the calm, just like her. With his quiet presence, she felt like she was telling it more to the sea itself than to another person.

“I don’t think this beach existed when I was little.” The stranger ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper beard, as if deep in thought. Even with the hint of grey, he didn’t look that old, Sally thought. The lines on his brow were from the weather, not from age. He must have spent a long time at sea.

He shifted, and for the first time she noticed the object lying in the sand next to him. It was a three-pronged fisher’s spear. She hadn’t thought people still used those for fishing. Or for anything but dress-up, for that matter. “Odd choice.” she commented, nodding at the tool. “I thought tridents went out of style.”

The stranger turned to her, a smile on his lips. “So you can see it? I thought you might. The fact that you could see me at all is remarkable.”

“What do you mean; I could see you? Of course I can see you.” Sally raised an eyebrow. She’d had a long day; a long few years, frankly, and had somewhat lost her patience for cryptic messages. “You’re not one of those phoney hocus-pocus-I’m-invisible people, are you?”

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through her body. “No. I don’t think I am one of those hocus-pocus people.”

“Ah. Good to know. Cause if you were, I would have politely asked you to leave me the hell alone.”

That caused a laugh. He was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t identify. Surprise, maybe? Curiosity? Recognition? No, that couldn’t be right; she was certain she had met him for the first time today. But _dammit_ , his eyes were green. Her gaze kept getting drawn to them. There was a touch of blue as well, combining into a dark blue-green, the shade of the ocean on a clear, sunny day. They looked at her almost searchingly, and suddenly Sally felt like she _did_ know this man; had known him all her life, even.

“Can I ask your name?” he ventured.

“Sally. Jackson” she answered, without thinking. “But shouldn’t a gentleman introduce himself first?”

He laughed at that. “That is very true; forgive me, Sally. I am Poseidon.”

“Like the Greek god?”

His eyes sparkled. “Like the Greek god, indeed.”

Sally hadn’t thought people were still named Poseidon in the 21st century. But then most people wouldn’t use tridents anymore, either, so it was oddly fitting, she supposed as she looked over the man once again. In a spur of the moment, she decided she trusted him. It was the kind of decision of hers that Jenny had called ‘spontaneous’ and her uncle ‘reckless’. But it was an informed guess, and she was usually right with those. “Why are you trying to fish so far from the water?” she asked curiously.

Poseidon glanced at his fishing rod still suck in the sand, the line giving no hint of having caught a fish. He sighed. “I was hoping to catch a Ketos I’ve lost in these waters a while back, but so far no luck. Unfortunate little mishap of mine, that one; I’m not proud of it. I thought I’d better take care of it before another Perseus feels compelled to turn it to stone again.”

Sally blinked a few times, not quite knowing what to make of that statement. But Poseidon looked completely sincere, so she offered a vague, “Good luck with that, ahm, Ketos fish.”

“Thank you. But truth be told I’m not expecting to catch it today. It’s gotten wise to my tricks. I just like this beach, I admit.” He turned to her fully, leaving his fishing line unattended. “I received a very nice gift here a while back.”

Sally found herself unable to look away. She still couldn’t identify the look in his eyes, but for some reason it was making her heart beat faster. Then Poseidon smiled a wide, fond smile, and it went into overdrive. “Would you mind if I stayed in your company for a while, Sally?”

She didn’t want company at the moment. She really didn’t. She had come out here precisely to avoid the mess that had become her life, and making friends with a complete stranger on a deserted beach didn’t seem like a wise choice to make. Consequently, she opened her mouth to say “Yes, I would mind; my life is a mess, please stay away.” Only what came out sounded suspiciously like “No, not at all. I don’t plan on going anywhere today.”

Why were her own speech organs starting to betray her now, too?

But the way his face turned into a delighted smile quelled her misgivings about her misbehaving mouth immediately. The deep green pools that were his eyes sparkled like the waves in the sunlight; filled with an understanding and a kindness that took her breath away without warning. She had never seen anyone look at her like that before. “That means more than you know. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Sally replied.

She wasn’t sure what she would have said next, because in that moment a flash of lightning suddenly illuminated the beach. A second later the sound reached her ears – and Poseidon’s mobile started to chime. He looked slightly cross as he fished it out of his coat, glancing at the number. Then he sighed and looked at her apologetically. “I’m afraid there’s some business I have to attend to. I could come to the hut afterwards? Bring some fish, if I catch any?”

“Uh – sure.” She scratched her neck, suddenly self-conscious. When this day began, she hadn’t expected a slightly weird and a bit endearing stranger to invite her for lunch – or dinner; she didn’t even know – in her own hut. Unexpected findings on the beach, indeed. Until he turned out to be a serial killer, though, Sally wouldn’t complain. “I think I‘ve got an old grill gathering dust somewhere in the storage room.” she pondered.

“That sounds perfect.” Poseidon grinned. “In the meantime, I wanted to give you this. I’ve taken good care of it.” He reached into his pockets and fished something out. A little object, no larger than her thumb. He handed it to her wordlessly – and then he was gone. Vanished into thin air.

Sally stared at the spot where he just stood a second ago. She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, though what she tried to accomplish with that she wasn’t quite sure. He was just gone, like he had never been there at all. But she _knew_ she hadn’t spaced out or something, because the little something was still digging into her palm insistently.

She opened it and stared at the small sea shell. Red, curved and with a tiny hole in the middle, it stared back like it had just popped out of her memory. It might as well have.


End file.
